


Confiscate Our Bones

by Heather_Night



Series: Nothing Left To Lose [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Oblivious Scott, Original Character(s), POV Allison Argent, POV Stiles, Post-Episode: s05e10 Status Asthmaticus, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7958662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles leaned an elbow against an exam table.  Normally he’d be pacing around the Animal Clinic while waiting for Deaton but he couldn’t really work up the energy.  Maybe the fact he’d had to hike it out to the clinic instead of take the Jeep had something to do with that.  </p><p>Then again, maybe it had more to do with how tired Stiles was, both physically and mentally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confiscate Our Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the beginning of a three part series, plotting the evolution of the friendship between Stiles and Allison with an end game of Allison/Stiles in the last part. There are mentions of Theo, Donovan and the Dread Doctors but none of them play a major role other than setting the stage for what's to come. The characters in this story sometimes say and do unpleasant things to Stiles but they have a reason and in the end, everything works out.

Confiscate Our Bones

_We don't belong here_  
_The sound of a thousand vultures_  
_Will drown us out, and confiscate our bones_  
_We stand alone_

 

 _\- Nothing Left to Lose_ by Heaven’s Basement

 

Set after Status Asthmaticus/5.10

Stiles leaned an elbow against an exam table. Normally he’d be pacing around the Animal Clinic while waiting for Deaton but he couldn’t really work up the energy. Maybe the fact he’d had to hike it out to the clinic instead of take the Jeep had something to do with that. 

Then again, maybe it had more to do with how tired Stiles was, both physically and mentally.

“Stiles, thank you for coming,” the veterinarian-slash-druid-slash-emissary greeted. “Why don’t we step into my office.” 

It wasn’t really a question, more like a statement. Shrugging, Stiles followed the man into his sanctuary. 

Deaton settled in a leather chair behind a spacious hardwood desk, motioning to Stiles to take a seat. Stiles dropped into a chair, leaning his forearms on his thighs. He found the position helped him concentrate but he couldn’t lie to himself—he was finding it harder and harder to remain upright.

“So, I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked to speak with you,” Deaton asked. Fortunately he didn’t wait for an answer because Stiles didn’t exactly have one beyond Deaton mentioning during his call that it was a matter of life and death. “I have come across some, shall we say, interesting information and I have need of your assistance.”

“You must be in pretty dire straits if you need my help,” Stiles worked up a retort. Normally every phrase out of his mouth was filled with sarcasm but he was leveling with Deaton this time. No one trusted Stiles or wanted to be around him.

The man cleared his throat, the first sign of discomfort Stiles had possibly ever witnessed in him. “Be that as it may, during some research I found a prophecy and it seems to be coming true.” Deaton pushed an ancient tome across his desk.

Stiles picked up the leather bound book and flipped to the page marked with a cloth bookmark. He began scanning the words but his Latin wasn’t up to snuff and instead he relied on the scribbles in the margins.

 _The Great Huntress falls to a trickster._  
Check; Allison died protecting everyone from the Nogitsune.

 _A devourer from the desert threatens all._  
Check; Malia’s biological mother was definitely a threat.

 _A false prophet precedes visitation from non-healers._  
Check; Theo definitely fit the definition of a false prophet as far as Stiles was concerned and the non-healers had to be the Dread Doctors.

 _The True Alpha is brought low from those within._  
Check; Malia had reported Scott and Liam got into one doozy of a fight. Of course Stiles supposed someone could argue Stiles had brought down the pack by not disclosing what really happened with Donovan to Scott or his dad. By the time he’d been ready to come clean, no one would listen to him.

 _All who live within the auspices of the Nemeton will fall to the void._  
Yeah. No. Stiles wasn’t going to let anything happen to his dad, Scott and his mom, Malia or Lydia and they were all somehow connected with the stupid magical tree stump. Especially since Stiles was Void, or at least had been recently. Theo had certainly been convinced Stiles could be that again.

Closing the book, Stiles set it back on Deaton’s desk. “What do you need me to do?”

“Do you understand the prophecy?” Deaton inquired gently.

“I think so. I’m going to take out everyone I care about unless I fix this.” Stiles had a sudden thought and of course it was out of his mouth before he could call it back. “Although I have to ask, did you ever see Season 3 of _Angel_ with the false prophecy that said Angel would murder his son and Wesley ended up doing a bunch of stupid shit and got ostracized from the group because he believed it?” 

“No?” Deaton answered, the skin between his eyebrows pulled up in perplexion.

“Okay, I’m just asking for verification that this isn’t a false prophecy and if I do whatever your going to tell me to do, I’m not going to make it worse,” Stiles shot back. 

“Oh, yes, I see,” Deaton said as he pulled out a bitching crystal ball. “Ostende mihi futurum.”

 _Show me the future._ Stiles knew enough Latine to understand that request.

Attention focused on the swirling color in the prognasticating instrument, Stiles saw flames. On the tree stump. Parrish dropping bodies on the flat surface.

Liam.

Mason.

Kira.

Melissa.

Malia.

Lydia.

Scott.

His father.

Bile shot up the back of Stiles’s throat but he swallowed convulsively, forcing it back down.

“What do I need to do?” Stiles barked out.

“I will send you to Purgatory where you need to broker a deal with the guardian. Your sacrifice would reset this world and wipe out the threat,” Deaton responded. Pointing to the crystal ball, Deaton invoked, “Alternis mihi futurum.”

This time the pack, plus his father and Melissa, were clustered around the McCall living room. They were laughing about something while eating slices of pizza from paper plates and sipping from red solo cups. Stiles made himself look around the room. Everyone, including Deaton was there. Everyone that is except Stiles.

“When you say sacrifice you aren’t talking a ritual sacrifice, are you?” Stiles clarified.

“No, your sacrifice would be real,” Deaton answered with a subdued tone.

How was sacrificing himself, never seeing these people again, any different than what was happening now? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laid eyes on his dad; they exchanged notes on the refrigerator that were decidedly impersonal. Scott wanted nothing to do with him. Malia and Lydia would speak to him but there was definitely zero camaraderie involved—they delivered scraps of information, demanded assistance and disappeared as soon as Stiles did whatever they wanted.

“Fine. When do you want to do this?” Stiles asked.

“Stiles, I want you to think this over very carefully. Only your willing sacrifice will work here. If you still want to go through with this, meet back here tomorrow at 6 a.m.,” Deaton advised.

Stiles knew his sacrifice would require more than just offering up his life. “What do I need to know to pull this off?” he asked.

Deaton swiveled in his leather chair, retrieving a stack of books from a bookcase behind him. He turned back around and handing Stiles the stack. “These books should hold some ideas but I’m afraid I don’t know exactly what you will encounter.”

Stiles pushed to his feet. It was going to take an hour to walk back to his house and he had a lot of research to do. 

There wasn’t anything left to say so he nodded at Deaton.

Before he slipped out of the door, the man apologized. “I’m sorry to ask you to do this Stiles. I couldn’t find another way.”

It was the kindest Scott’s boss had ever been to Stiles and told Stiles exactly what he needed to know—there would be no coming back from this.

Squaring his shoulders, he headed off. Just because everyone had given up on Stiles didn’t mean he should do the same.

-0-

Stiles was scared.

He’d done the reading, he’d done more research and he was left with more questions than answers.

There were too many versions of Purgatory to parse through so Stiles didn’t know what to expect.

Stiles had known exactly what to expect as he’d reached out to the most important people in his life and they’d all been to busy, or disgusted by him, to talk to him.

The hardest decision had been not leaving anything for his father. Stiles didn’t want to leave what would amount to a suicide note and no other message would be believed.

Instead Stiles showed up at the Animal Clinic, eyes sunken and skin sallow, right on time.

Deaton met him at the door. “I wasn’t certain you were going to show, Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles’s face cracked awkwardly when his mouth turned into a smile. “That makes two of us. Now let’s get this show on the road.”

“I have a spell that will require some of your blood and I need to use this dagger,” Deaton explained while holding up a rusty looking knife. “This will ensure you end up in Purgatory.”

Stiles wasn’t thrilled about acquiring a case of tetanus but then again, he probably wouldn’t be alive long enough to reap the reward. More like punishment.

Speaking, more like thinking, of punishment, Stiles asked, “I thought Purgatory was an intermediate state after physical death in which those destined for heaven undergo purification so they can enter heaven. Why am I going to Purgatory?”

“That is the Catholic vision of Purgatory, yes,” Deaton answered. Stiles waited but no more information was forthcoming. Apparently Deaton was going to be a dick to the bitter end when it came to sharing the knowledge.

“I thought I’d be going straight to hell,” Stiles huffed. Okay, maybe he didn’t necessarily think he deserved that but certain people of his acquaintance seemed to think he was destined for it.

“Purgatory is where Apollyon, the Destroyer, holds forth. Apollyon will judge whether you can enter Purgatory and it’s with Apollyon you must negotiate a deal to save those connected to the Nemeton,” Deaton smoothly replied.

That was kind of vital information Stiles should have had last night instead of wading through all of the extraneous crap in the stack of books Deaton had bestowed upon him.

Stiles had an overwhelming urge to giggle. Out of spite he’d left those books in his bedroom. Hauling them around when he was walking was backbreaking work and maybe, just maybe, if they were found after he was gone Lydia would put the pieces of the puzzle together and figure out where he went. Otherwise Deaton was probably shit out of luck when it came to retrieving his valuable books.

Everything turned a bit hazy in Stiles’s mind as Deaton made his preparations. He barely felt the cut across his chest—over the heart—and the words Deacon chanted were just noise.

With a bright flash of light Stiles found himself somewhere cold. Very cold. So cold he quickly went from shivering so hard his teeth hurt to no movement.

A garbled cry from behind him had Stiles tottering around to stare with disbelief. Hieronymus Bosch had nothing on this landscape filled with grotesque, apocalyptic images. If he squinted he could make out demonic looking beings, half human animals and machines run amuck…or just another day in Beacon Hills.

Stiles might have laughed although the only sound to emerge from him was choked breaths.

“Amazing, isn’t it? The human mind bends reality to create this representation of Purgatory because it’s all the puny brain can interpret,” a voice boomed from above. Stiles looked all around but couldn’t locate the source of the voice; it was probably all on his head.

“Is this better, human mortal?” the voice inquired. 

Oh, it was a winged lion. A talking winged lion. Although Stiles regularly came in contact with werewolves, a banshee, werecoyote, kitsune and assorted other supernatural beings so why not a talking winged lion?

“Indeed,” the winged lion said before yawning. “Ask what you want, human.” The demand shook Stiles were he stood.

“Apollyon,” Stiles began but the creature before him roared. Maybe Stiles wasn’t allowed to address him by name. He tried again, “Sir?” That roar hurt his joints and a trickle of something wet seeped out of his nose. It made its way onto his lips and yep…blood. One last try. “Ma’am?”

“At this rate you’re not going to live long enough to ask your question. You are not equipped to say my name,” the lion explained and the tone was pure exasperation. Stiles would know—he regularly cause his dad to sound like that.

His dad. Who he would probably never see again.

Sadness was replaced with outrage. Deaton probably knew the rules of approaching this being ( _I’m a God!_ Something bellowed making his heada che) and hadn’t seen fit to share. 

“I say again, why have you disturbed The Destroyer. Speak or I will smite you,” Apollyon threatened.

“I seek your assistance. I would like to secure the safety and well being of my father and friends from the evil afoot in Beacon Hills,” Stiles made his application for help. No one said _evil afoot_ but the more he listened to Apollyon, the more he found himself phrasing things to match the being’s ( _I’m a God!_ ) vernacular.

“What could you possibly have of worth to fulfill your part of the trade?” Apollyon questioned. It was the first time something the God ( _see, I’m learning!_ ) said that didn’t sound like a demand. 

Stiles began to gnaw on a hangnail. When he realized he was doing it he stopped right away because it wasn’t very polite manners to be displaying in front of a God ( _Yes, yes, you have finally acknowledged I am a God so let us move this along_ ). 

Stiles cleared his throat. “I really only have one thing to offer and that’s myself.”

Apollyon scoffed. Stiles had never realized how irritating the noise was and he sent up a silent apology to anyone he’d ever scoffed at before. “Why would a human want to sacrifice himself for those who do not believe in him?” Apollyon asked and Stiles was pretty sure there was a note of apology in the God’s tone but Stiles couldn’t figure out why until…

_His dad, dressed in his uniform, leaned against the nurse’s station, staring at the scrubs-clad Melissa McCall. “I just don’t know where I went wrong. I mean Stiles has always been one to bend the truth but this—conspiring to kill someone, lying about it—I just don’t know what to do with it.” His dad’s complexion was pale and he looked haggard. Sleep deprived._

_Stiles waited to see how Ms. McCall would respond. She’d always been in his corner, had looked after him when his dad had been lost to grief (in the bottom of a Jack Daniel’s bottle), so surely she would stick up for him now. “Well, I don’t like saying this, but sometimes people are just broken. It could be he’s just a bad seed. Maybe it’s best if he’s put behind bars where he can’t hurt anyone else.”_

Wow. Stiles wobbled on his feet, stricken with the hurt caused by his parent and pseudo-parent.

“There is more,” a subdued voice whispered to him.

_“I just don’t know, Kira. Stiles…something happened and he’s damaged. Maybe it was the Nogitsune but maybe it happened before that. He’s always bent the rules to suit his own purposes but he clearly crossed the line this time and I don’t think I can ever trust him again,” Scott said, lip quivering, eyes filled with moisture. Kira pulled him in for a hug but didn’t say anything in Stiles’s defense._

Stiles might have bent the rules but it wasn’t always to suit his own purposes. Perhaps Scott had forgotten the times he, the True Alpha, had bent the rules—using Derek to poison Gerard was the first thing to come to mind—but Stiles knew once a reputation was damaged, it was hard to come back from.

Lifting his arm to his face, Stiles swiped his shirt across his eyes to sop up the moisture leaking from his eyes. It’s not like this was news to him but it hurt to hear it put so bluntly.

“Wait, there is more,” Apollyon quietly murmured.

Stiles remembered those late night ads for all sorts of wacky household items. _“But wait, there’s more!”_

_Lydia was braiding Malia’s hair. The strawberry blond cleared her throat. “Can I ask you something about Stiles?”_

_Malia shrugged, disregarding Lydia’s harrumph for jostling her head and making it difficult to braid._

_“Stiles has big hands…and feet. I was wondering if what they say is true?” Lydia asked, her attention seemingly focused on her task._

_“What do who say?” Malia asked. Subtleties were lost on the werecoyote._

_Lydia pursed her lips. “The saying is a myth that a guy with big extremities also has a big penis. Since I know myth is sometimes fact, I wondered if that was true about Stiles.”_

_“Well I haven’t seen it but it certainly feels like a nice hand full,” Malia answered._

_“What do you mean you’ve never seen it? I thought you and Stiles…” Lydia’s voice trailed off and her hands stilled._

_Malia snorted. “Stiles said I couldn’t give fully informed consent,” she put air quotes around the word, her tone caustic, “so we couldn’t go all of the way. I’m not sure that was the reason why. I’m not sure he could get it up.”_

_Lydia nodded, not at all surprised, and resumed braiding Malia’s brunette tresses._

And right there was the death knell of any shot Stiles had with either female. How had he not known girls participated in their own brand of locker room talk? That was brutal. His father, Scott’s mom and Scott all thought he wasn’t trustworthy, that he was downright malicious, and Malia and Lydia thought he was impotent. 

Charming. The Nogitsune had left him with some performance issues but Stiles had figured things would ease up, maybe when things weren’t so chaotic. So much for hoping Malia wouldn’t notice. Then again they’d broken up so that didn’t really matter.

Shaking off the feeling of overwhelming despair at the thought of the people he was closest to who didn’t really care, Stiles took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. These are the people I care about and if there’s something I can do to save them, I have to try.”

“So be it. I accept your offer. Before we make this official, there’s someone here I think you would like to see,” Apollyon said, flapping his wings.

Allison Argent stood before Stiles.

Stiles blinked, scrubbed at his eyes, and stared some more.

“Allison?” Stiles’s voice cracked on the last syllable.

“Stiles!” The brunette huntress flew into his arms, crushing him close, her face creased in a huge smile.

They rocked and squeezed tight and cried…it was worth it coming here just to see his friend.

“So you’re bound for heaven,” Stiles murmured as he rested his head on Allison’s shoulder, unwilling to part from her. He’d forgotten she was only a few inches shorter than he was, the fresh scent she favored, even the blinding smile with dimples she flashed when she was happy.

“I didn’t know, no one tells you anything here,” Allison murmured, pulling back to stare into Stiles’s face. “You’ve changed,” she decreed.

Stiles flinched, awaiting his friend’s judgment but she only pulled him in for another hug.

“Tell me what I missed, including why you’re here,” Allison invited.

Stiles paused to collect his thoughts. 

Apollyon didn’t give Stiles a chance to answer, instead inserting himself into the reunion. “May I share your memories with each other?” the God asked, his tone regal, his wings tensed as though to spread.

Stiles looked at Allison who was looking at him. Biting his lip, he nodded his head. Allison followed suit.

 _The picture perfect life Allison had as the only child of two stable parents who doted on her. Gymnastics and archery and playing._

_The move to Beacon Hills. The realization her grandfather and favorite aunt couldn’t be trusted, in fact they were evil. The family business was a matriarchal hunter society, her mother killing herself instead of becoming a werewolf, Allison giving her life to protect those she loved from an ancient trickster._

_Allison breathing her last. Waking up in Purgatory. Undergoing purification involving…vultures? Vultures pecking and biting._

_Blood._

_Pain._

At the same time Stiles could sense his life playing out for his friend, her stifled gasp signaling her unhappiness with something she was seeing.

Or many somethings.

“Oh, Stiles,” Allison breathed unsteadily, throwing her arms around him again.

The two had grown closer after their initial rocky beginning—Scott did ignore his best friend for a girl after all—but they’d never quite been this touchy-feely.

Then again they’d never visited Purgatory before.

“I’m sorry, Allison. I got you killed. I was the weak link, I let in the Nogitsune. It isn’t fair that you died. I would gladly change places with you,” Stiles buried his face in the long hair framing Allison’s face.

“Foolish human, that can be arranged,” Apollyon hissed. “I must have your name to strike the bargain!”

Stiles’s lips parted, “M—“

Fireworks exploded and between one breath and the next, Allison disappeared.

Stiles would miss his friend but Allison didn’t deserve what had happened to her.

Wings flapped and Stiles though Apollyon was making use of them. The God stood beside him, unmoving.

The flapping became louder, raspy drawn-out hissing interspersed with the grunting noises reminiscent of dogs barking in the distance.

A flock of birds came into view.

Vultures.

 _Vultures pecking and biting._

_Blood._

_Pain._

“Your purification begins.”

-0-

Allison woke up to the rhythm of steady beating of her heart. Her eyelids lifted and she turned her head toward the noise, recognizing the screen flashing her vital signs including her heart monitor.

She was in the hospital. Where was—

“Stiles!” she screamed, jackknifing upward.

“Easy, sweetheart. You’re safe now. Stiles can’t hurt you,” her dad’s low voice rumbled near her ear.

“No,” Allison croaked. “Stiles saved me. We have to find him,” she insisted loudly.

Allison wasn’t prone to hysteria but dying, ending up in Purgatory where she was tested and finding herself alive again had left her sense reeling. 

Her father pulled her into a gentle hug. Someone bustled into the room and shortly after, the room began to spin in an unpleasant manner.

Lowered to the pillows, Allison struck out, satisfied she landed a blow but displeased it lacked any sort of punch. “Need to find Stiles.”

The world whited out around here.

-0-

Things made a little more sense this time as Allison surfaced.

She was in the hospital. Her dad thought Stiles hurt her. She needed to find him.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Lydia asked.

Allison smiled. She’d missed her best friend. She sat up carefully and held her arms open for a hug. Lydia moved in, squeezing her gently.

It was nothing like the back thumping and hard squeezing hugs Allison and Stiles had exchanged but then again, Stiles had never treated her like a fragile flower.

Allison cleared her throat, leaning back. “I’m okay, I think. But we have to help Stiles,” she announced, expecting Lydia to agree.

There had always been some unresolved sexual tension between Stiles and Lydia and Allison had been kind enough not to point it out when her friend was complaining about the, in Lydia’s words, skinny freak’s attention.

Stiles might’ve been skinny but he wasn’t a freak. Freaky smart, yes, but then so was Lydia.

“I think you’re confused, Allison. Stiles is the one who kidnapped you,” Lydia explained, perching on the edge of the bed. Allison waited for her to laugh, announce it was a joke, but she remained unsmiling.

“No, actually Lydia, Stiles did not kidnap me but he did save me from the kidnappers,” Allison responded. Her voice was colder than she thought possible but who the hell was Lydia to say Stiles had harmed Allison? She couldn’t possibly know what had happened.

Allison closed her eyes and concentrated.

There was the reality of what happened to her in Purgatory but when she opened her mouth to fill Lydia in, something stopped her.

Instead Allison suffered a barrage of images showing how she had been kidnapped by the Oni instead of killed by them, and kept away from her loved ones. This was a false reality filled with rewritten history. The one everyone here seemed to believe.

Someone knocked on the door and Allison smiled a welcome as Scott stepped into the room. He seemed unsure as he hovered by the doorway but Allison held her hand out, beckoning him over.

Scott looked the same; handsome and caring and somehow more mature. Allison detected tears in his eyes as he moved forward and hugged her gently. Her former boyfriend, and her first love, looked at Allison like she’d hung the moon. Seeing as Scott was a werewolf that really meant something.

The hug became uncomfortable and Allison squirmed back.

Lydia broke the moment by making eye contact with Scott. “Allison says Stiles didn’t kidnap her, he saved her.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” Scott yelped. “We know it was Stiles. He was hiding stuff from us and when we confronted him, he didn’t deny it.”

Allison knew Stiles had been hiding something—his impotence for one—but instead of reaching out to the hurting young man, apparently everyone had ostracized him. 

A new voice broke through Allison’s stunned silence.

Sheriff Stilinski.

Allison tried to look at the man through the eyes of his son but she saw someone who had let Stiles down. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he would prove himself here.

“Excuse me, Scott, Lydia, but I need to get a statement from Allison,” the sheriff said, entering the room. He looked at her friends but refused to make eye contact with her.

This wasn’t off to a good start. Allison, impatient, folded her arms over her chest. “Why aren’t you out there looking for Stiles?”

“Allison, I’m so sorry for what Stiles did to you but with your help, we’ll find him and make it so he can never hurt you again,” the older man finally looked up. He backpedaled as he correctly read the fury on her face.

“Get. Out.” Allison snapped. “All of you. Get out of my room. Stiles is in danger and you’re all so busy blaming him for something he didn’t even do. Get out of my sight. You all make me sick.”

Stomach twisting unpleasantly, Allison realized she really did feel sick. 

Her father entered the room as the three people shuffled out. 

“Dad, why does everyone believe Stiles did this to me?” Allison asked. When he hesitated, she stared him down. “I’m not asking you as your daughter but as the head of the Argents. Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes. Stiles needs our protection."

_We protect those who cannot protect themselves._

Allison listened with half of her attention while her father detailed the admittedly sketchy details condemning Stiles for Allison’s disappearance.

Allison realizes the glimpses she had of Stiles’s recent history—the appearance of Theo Raeken and the Dread Doctors—had not happened in this reality. The rest though, saddened her.

Stiles’s life has been one hardship after another starting with the death of his mother—his mom didn’t recognize him at the end and actually thought he was sent to kill her, the Sheriff’s tango with bourbon forcing Stiles to grow up ahead of schedule, Stiles’s ADHD that made him stand out, possession by the Nogitsune and then the return of Theo who managed to undermine every relationship Stiles had. 

The lack of support her friend had received, in conjunction with his tragic history, saddened her.

“Stiles didn’t harm me. In fact he got me out. Now I want to save him. Will you help me?” Allison looked into the clear blue eyes of her father.

A slow grin covered his face. “Of course I will. Where do you want to start?”

“Deaton. He knows where Stiles went.”

Stiles hadn’t turned his back on those he loved so Allison would move heaven and earth—or Purgatory—to get him back now.

Ses amis et sa famille étaient des imbéciles.

_His friends and family were imbeciles._

-0-

 

Allison held her crossbow against her chest and glowered at Deaton. “I know you sent Stiles somewhere and I want to know how to get him back.” Allison wanted to say the word Purgatory but something, something supernatural, prevented her.

Her dad moved around the veterinarian’s office, picking up things and setting them down, generally being a nuisance. It was meant as a threat and as long as he stayed out of Allison’s line of fire, she was fine with the strategy.

If Allison hadn’t been watching the man so closely, she might have missed his tell. Deaton interlaced his fingers and squeezed them together. 

“Nuh-uh,” Allison interrupted him. “The next words out of your mouth are going to be a lie. I suggest you rethink what you’re going to say.”

‘It was a one time only spell. I can’t send you to Stiles,” Deaton’s attention flicked toward her father. Allison was unable to disclose to anyone that she’d been to Purgatory but apparently Deaton wasn’t aware of that. She probably should’ve shown some appreciation for the man’s caution but in her mind it was too little and too late.

“Fine. Is there a different spell that can be used?” Allison was very aware of how Deaton manipulated words. He would answer the question but volunteer nothing more. It was best to keep asking questions until the full truth was exposed.

Deaton sighed, rubbing his temples. “Your only chance is to go to the Nemeton and request intervention.”

Allison, because of her connection to the Nemeton, should be able to find it.

“Very good.” Allison kept her finger on the trigger. After what Deaton had done to Stiles, Allison wouldn’t trust him not to do harm to her father or herself. “Might I suggest you vacate Beacon Hills?”

He dad raised an eyebrow but didn’t interfere. 

“As you wish,” Deaton answered, sighing as he looked around the office. He understood the implied threat.

Allison nodded toward the door and both Argents slipped out without difficulty.

“It always leads back to the Nemeton, doesn’t it,” her dad said, settling behind the steering wheel. “Shall I head for the Preserve?”

“Please. I’m pretty certain I can find it.” Allison said, grabbing the bottled water in the door and taking a long pull from it. 

Her dad stared at her profile when his eyes weren’t directed where he was driving.

“What?” Allison prompted.

“Just wondered if you want the pack’s help.” His expression was bland but Allison could tell he had specific feelings on the subject.

“I want to handle this myself,” Allison confirmed.

The tension around her dad’s eyes lessened. “Good call.”

Somewhere along the way, her dad and Scott had developed a good relationship but it seemed as though something had caused a setback. If Allison remembered correctly, her dad had always had kind words for Stiles’s intellect and reasoning and she wondered if whatever had happened in the wake of her ‘kidnapping’ had changed things.

Allison hadn’t been around and she had to say her opinion of her friends, and the sheriff, had definitely changed.

Reflecting on the memories she’d exchanged with Stiles, Allison realized she would have to strike a deal with Apollyon. As her dad put the vehicle into park and they both hopped out, Allison hoped what she would propose would be acceptable.

A thick fog descended on the Preserve the closer the Argents got to the Nemeton. It wasn’t a surprise when Allison found herself separated from her dad.

Some things had to be done alone. Like dying. And resurrection.

Letting her heart—the darkness around her heart—guide her, Allison easily located the magical tree stump.

“Apollyon, please hear me. I would like to negotiate with you,” Allison called out.

The winged lion appeared before her, shaking out its mane. “I reject your proposal.”

“But I haven’t made it yet!” Allison cried. This had to work. Stiles was coming back and that was that.

“The only proposal I will entertain is if you change places with your Stiles,” Apollyon stated. 

Taking a deep breath, Allison exhaled her agreement. “Yes. I’ll trade places. I can’t resume my life knowing Stiles is suffering.”

With an eye roll—Allison wondered how much time the ancient being ( _I am a God!_ ) had spent with Stiles to perfect that mannerism—Apollyon shook out his wings. “Due to the selfless actions you and the male human have shown, I will allow you both to remain on this plane of existence.”

Relief coursed through Allison, making her legs weak.

“The caveat, or course, being neither one of you may speak of your visit to my realm. Do you accept the terms?”

“Of course,” Allison blurted. She didn’t have to think about her response.

Crushing pain in her head staggered Allison and she dropped to her knees. 

The earth before her bubbled and something was spat from its depths.

Stiles appeared before her.

Unconscious, clothing in rags and bleeding from multiple wounds, surrounded by piles of disturbed ground. Nothing had ever looked more beautiful to Allison before.

“Dad!” she cried out. The fog parted and her dad appeared.

Without being asked, her dad pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. 

Allison crept closer on her knees. “Oh, Stiles.”

The damage was horrible. Allison zeroed in on Stiles’s fingers; every one of them looked broken. Like Stiles had clawed his way out of the ground.

“Yes, ma’am. It looks like he clawed his way out of the ground. He’s definitely hurt so send an ambulance. I’ll wait by the road so I can show the way in to him,” her dad made his report to the 911 dispatcher.

A warm hand curled over her shoulder. “I’m going to head out to the road where we parked. You’ve got your cell phone in case I have trouble finding the location, right?”

Tapping her front pocket, Allison located her cell phone. “Right here. I’ll stay with Stiles.”

Her dad had enough sense not to try to coax her away. 

Allison pulled her long-sleeved shirt off and draped it over Stiles’s still form. She edged closer so she could brush dirt from his pale face.

The brush rustled as many feet approached the area. The first person to appear was her dad followed closely by Stiles’s dad. 

“Stiles!” The sheriff called, dropping to his knees next to Allison. “I’m here now, Allison. I’ll take care of my son.”

Oh, that was rich. “Your son? The one you accused of kidnapping me? You really think I’d abandon my friend to someone like you? I don’t think so.” Allison kept her voice low. This was between her and the sheriff.

Actually it was between Stiles and his father but until Stiles could speak for himself, Allison would watch over him. 

The sheriff appeared stricken but Allison didn’t apologize for her rude words.

Nothing could persuade her from her course.

-0-

Allison sat vigil next to Stiles’s bedside. 

She’d withdrawn from the room while the sheriff had visited, observing through the glass window as the older man bent his head and whispered apologies to his unconscious son.

The rest of the pack she managed to run off. Allison didn’t think Scott or Lydia meant Stiles any harm but until she was certain, she wouldn’t leave them alone with her friend. There were three new faces—Liam, Mason and Malia—along with Kira. Isaac didn’t appear to be around but that relationship had run its course and Allison was grateful she didn’t have to split her attention with anyone else.

A gasp, barely audible, caught Allison’s attention.

Stiles’s eyes blinked open.

Allison was elated. Bending over, she tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled. “Stiles, we both made it.”

Using his elbows, Stiles pushed himself up until he was sitting. The two hugged and Allison felt moisture on her shoulder. She certainly left some on Stiles’s hospital gown.

“Tell me,” Stiles croaked hoarsely.

Straightening up, Allison poured some water into a cup and held the straw out for Stiles. His pink lips latched on gratefully and his cheeks hollowed out as he sucked.

There was something vaguely sexual about Stiles’s actions but Allison firmly set them aside. Stiles was her friend and he needed her unconditional support.

Once Stiles had taken his fill, Allison adjusted the head of the bed so her friend could recline more comfortably. 

Perching on the side of the bed, Allison began, “I made a deal,” but she had to pause as Stiles cried out.

“No, no, you shouldn’t have,” Stiles cringed behind his bandaged hands.

Allison hushed him gently. “It’s okay, Stiles. We’re both here. We can’t tell anyone else where we were but otherwise everything is back to normal.”

“Normal?” Stiles peaked at her from behind his hands. She had a glimpse of how playful, and adorable, Stiles must’ve been as a child, dark hair sticking up everywhere and big, brown eyes staring.

“Well, what passes for normal anyway. History seems to have changed so that the Oni kidnapped me instead of killing me. They hid me away and somehow you got blamed for my disappearance. There seemed to be consensus that you were hiding something,” Stiles nodded at her admission, “and that you’d gone dark side.”

“Dark side? Really? Who came up with that one? I know it couldn’t be Scotty, he hasn’t seen the original Star Wars movies,” Stiles griped. Allison didn’t know if he was more offended that everyone thought he’d gone dark side or that Scott hadn’t seen the movies. It amazed Allison how Stiles didn’t seem to bear any malice toward his best friend. Then again upon waking, Stiles hadn’t asked after Scott, Lydia or his dad. 

“I’m no Darth Vader, that’s for damn sure,” Stiles huffed.

Smoothing a hunk of hair hanging low on his forehead so she could see Stiles’s pretty eyes more clearly, Allison parried with, “Definitely not Darth Vader. I was thinking you were more Han Solo. You know, the whole self sacrificing thing Han did in _The Empire Strikes Back_?”

Stiles laughed, his eyes twinkling. “Does that make you Princess Leia? You do have the hair, and the attitude. I mean you totally you kick ass.”

Allison felt something in her core melt; she hadn’t even realized something was frozen.

A knock on the door splashed reality on their good humor. Scott stuck his head in side. “May I come in for a moment?”

Allison didn’t want the intrusion but this wasn’t her decision. She looked to Stiles who minutely shrugged. “Just for a moment. Stiles just woke up.”

Scott edged into the room, looking supremely uncomfortable. “I, uh, just wanted to say I’m sorry, Stiles. For,” the True Alpha gestured widely and then his shoulders hunched forward, “everything.”

“Sure thing, Scott,” Stiles answered but he was having a hard time holding his eyes open.

Surprise flashed across Scott’s face. He hadn’t expected his apology to be accepted. Truthfully, neither had Allison.

Allison used the controls to flatten the head of the bed again so Stiles could stretch out more comfortably. Her fingers itched to smooth his rumpled hair out of his face again.

“I thought maybe we could get some lunch and catch up,” Scott invited.

Once again Allison found herself appalled at the actions of Stiles’s best friend. Stiles was stuck in the hospital, recuperating from painful injuries, and the only thing Scott could offer him was a lack luster apology. Allison wondered if this is how the friendship had played out when Scott and Allison had been Scott-and-Allison and knew that was the case.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Allison tried to let Scott down gently. 

“I really missed you, Allison. I thought maybe we could try again,” Scott asked shyly, dimples flashing at her.

“I’m sorry, Scott. Too much has happened and I don’t feel comfortable stepping back into a relationship with you,” Allison answered. 

Her response wasn’t well received, her first love frowning at her. His eyes shifted between her and Stiles and some sort of light bulb came on for him.

Of course it was the wrong light bulb.

“Seriously? So you two are a thing now?” Scott asked, his tone snotty.

“We’re friends, Scott. You know, like you and Stiles are friends. He needs someone to look out for him right now and that someone is going to be me,” she growled. Scott never seemed to hear her, or believe her, when she said stuff he didn’t want to hear so she may have infused her words with some extra hostility.

Scott flinched backward. He’d always attributed qualities to her—sweetness, gentleness, honor—she herself didn’t see. When his concept of her clashed with reality, Scott never quite knew how to cope.

Scott finally withdrew from the room, casting one last sour look at his sleeping friend.

Allison let her fingers give in to the itch to smooth Stiles’s hair away from his face. The texture was silky soft and the strands wound around her finger like they had a life of their own.

“I’m not sure we belong here, but between the two of us I think we’ll make it,” Allison decreed as she stared at the pale features of her friend.

The friend who had gone into Purgatory, cut a deal and come out of it alive.

Anything following that ought to be a breeze.

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> When I received the prompt of Purgatory on my Hurt/Comfort Bingo Card I wasn't sure what I was going to do with it. Fortunately it dove tailed nicely into getting Allison back on the chessboard and I've been interested in writing a story featuring Allison and Stiles so this worked out well for me.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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